#[ He wanted to voice his opinion on the matter ]

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

svsss omegaverse au no thoughts just post-canon alpha-“alpha” bingqiu ft trans omega binghe who feels safe enough to explore for the first time.

at first sqq is thoughtlessly cruel about it— ‘binghe is an alpha among alphas; surely he shouldn’t be building nests. what’s all this fake whining—binghe can’t trick me into staying home longer by playing at being an omega. binghe’s kneading at me like a child; he really should stop that before someone mistakes him for an omega.’

never any true malicious intention, but the kind of casual sexism that flourishes in someone who has never thought to examine their beliefs or behaviors. he’s constantly communicating to binghe ‘it is wrong for an alpha to behave like an omega; being an omega is bad; you are finding comfort in the wrong things and you need to stop.’

i was trying to picture how it might come to a head. maybe a plant or potion that affects alpha and omega dynamic sexes—essentially swaps alphas into omegas and vice versa. maybe it needs dual cultivation to cure, and suddenly binghe tries his damndest to avoid sex as long as he can.

but i think what i like better is a lot more mundane.

during a period on qjp, sqq goes out to tend to his duties for the day and lbh decides to stay home. sqq is out, the house is warded to hell and back, and binghe is properly alone. so he builds a nest, and he lets himself purr even though it sounds wrong to his ears. he lets himself feel safe and comfortable and vulnerable.

and then sqq gets home early, sees binghe acting like an omega, and is confused. because binghe is the alpha-est alpha to ever alpha. so he must be confused, if he’s behaving like this.

so he scolds his husband—not overly harsh, in his opinion, but with the clear intention to correct this. (maybe he’s a bit flustered because binghe looks so cute like this, and then he feels guilty for finding it cute. clearly something is wrong if his number-one-alpha husband is acting like this.)

‘binghe, what’s gotten into you, acting like this? are you a full-grown alpha or aren’t you? what kind of fearsome demon lord rolls around in a nest of another alpha’s clothes like some kind of omega? get up binghe, get—’

and binghe just. cries. not the dramatic waterworks that he uses to tease sqq and get his way—there’s no blubbering, no whining, no begging shizun to reconsider. binghe just sort of shuts down, murmurs a hollow, tight-throated ‘yes, shizun,’ and gets up. takes apart the nest as he’s told and cries quietly, because clearly there is something wrong with him. but if sqq doesn’t want him to be that way, he won’t be that way, no matter how it hurts to pack all his softness away.

and immediately sqq sees that he’s fucked up. he doesn’t really understand how, but he sees that he’s hurt binghe deeply, so he stills binghe’s slow, heavy movements as he takes apart his little nest, and he pulls binghe into a warm embrace.

‘binghe…’ he doesn’t know what else to say, so that’s all he says for a while. rubs binghe’s back, strokes his hair, holds him gently and waits for him to calm before he finally, finally asks. why the nests? why all the little things he’s been doing to make himself more like an omega? why play at being something he’s not?

and all binghe can say, voice tiny and vulnerable, is ‘but shizun, i think maybe i am.’

[nobodysnowhere]

Time sensitive cram session

A how-to guide to getting your friends to study with you.

Cast: First years, gn reader

Summary: Midterms are fast approaching and the Prefect quickly realize that they aren’t as well prepared as they thought they’d be.

Notes: This fic is most definitely written by someone who isn’t procrastinating about doing their studying. Yep. Totally. I promise.

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The first rays of sunlight hit your bleary room through a gap between the curtains. From the foot of the bed, you hear some light grumbling.

“Henchman close the curtains some more. The sun is hitting me in the face.” complains Grim as he covers his eyes with both of his paws, curling himself up further into a tight ball.

With an exasperated sigh, you reach over to your phone to check the time. You flail around for a bit, not wanting to fully commit to getting out of bed before your alarm goes off.

After finally getting ahold of your phone, and almost dropping it off the nightstand by doing so, you finally check the time.

After processing what’s on your screen you let out a disgruntled sigh. “Come on. Wake up, Grim. It’s only a couple more minutes until the alarm goes off anyway.”

You throw off the duvet and tap Grim a couple of times to get him to wake up properly. He in response only paws at your hand to make you stop bothering him.

You check the phone again, to see for how much longer you could let the monster kitty sleep.

That is when a notification pops up on your screen. You silently stare at the message, your hand hovering unmoving above Grim.

Something he takes notice of. He hesitantly uncovers one of his eyes to look up at you, only to find you sitting in bed staring blankly at your phone screen.

“Henchman? What are you looking at?” he tentatively asks.

“Grim. I think we’re cooked.” you simply reply, with a certain hopelessness in your voice.

Grim, now begrudgingly awake, simply tilts his head at you in confusion. In turn, you show him the message that seemingly worries you so much.

It reads: Last Friday before the midterms. Hope you didn’t procrastinate again.

“Oh no.” Grim says, now mirroring your expression of hopelessness.

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“Sooo… how has studying been treating you guys?” you ask Ace and Deuce as you walk towards the main building after they retrieved you and Grim from Ramshackle.

“Please don’t even start with that. I barely have any notes from Professor Treins' classes, because I always fall asleep within the first half hour, no matter how hard I try. I swear he must use some kind of spell that makes you fall asleep in his class.” Deuce complains.

“And ever since that thing with Azul, I don’t trust anyone offering to trade study guides. Regardless of how much I need them.” he continues, shuddering at the memory of what they had to go through.

It appears Ace and Grim share his opinion as they too take a moment to remember that horrible experience.

“Yeah, but you left out the worst thing. Riddle. You know the guy that’s been pestering us to study properly since even before we knew what topics would be on the midterms?” Ace complains while you all continue walking.

“I mean how am I supposed to study if someone is constantly breathing down my neck?” he continues, as he throws his arms in the air in frustration.

“Not to throw a pity party here or anything but if anyone’s in trouble it would have to be me. I don’t only have to catch up on an entire lifetime of schoolwork, but I’m also tied to a tuna-obsessed cat, that has no concept of studying.” you add your complaints to the pile.

Grim, who was still hung up on the memory of those sea anemones, shot up at the mention of tuna.

“What about tuna? And also I’m not a cat.” he exclaims as he hits your shoulder off of which he’s hanging off.

“Sure you’re not.” Ace answers without a hint of hesitation, rolling his eyes for good measure.

Grim retaliates, repositioning himself on your shoulder, making you stumble so that Deuce has to lend you a hand to not let you fall.

“How about you say that to my face you, uhh… you…” Grim points an accusatory finger at Ace. While fumbling to find the right words to annoy Ace back.

Before the situation could escalate any further you interrupt the two. “How about we form a study group? We could do the studying at Ramshackle, so we wouldn’t need to worry about curfew. In addition to that you won’t be pestered by Riddle anymore, you won’t need to worry about owing any favors in return for the study guides and I’ll get some more people to hold Grim accountable.”

You look at your friends. They don’t seem to reject the idea. Except for Grim, who is once again complaining about you insulting his intellect.

“Seems like a great idea to me, but how will we convince Housewarden Riddle to let us go?” Deuce asks.

“That shouldn’t be too hard. We just need to ask him nicely, reassure him that we’re serious about studying and he’ll let you go with no problem. Hell, he’ll probably give you guys some recommendations before sending you away.” you explain with a pep in your step. Excited to study with your friends and be able to share your despair of not understanding the curriculum.

“Yeah, sure it’ll be easy enough to get him to agree to let us leave, but if we fail these midterms he’s sure to collar us.” Ace argues, groaning at the mere thought of losing his magic for an undisclosed amount of time.

“I mean you’re right, but he’d collar you regardless if you failed. It doesn’t matter if you guys studied at Ramshackle or in Heartslabyul.” you counter.

Ace looks at you as if he wants to disagree with you out of reflex, but he can catch himself before he says anything. He thought about what you said and dropped his hand nodding in agreement.

“Then it’s settled. Us four, for a crisis cram session over the weekend.” Deuce nods, mentally preparing himself for the mountain of work he’ll need to work through.

“Who said it’ll be just us four? None of us are particularly good at potions or literature. We still need some more people to form a productive study group.” you interject.

Grim begins to stir on your shoulder. “You sound as if you already have some people in mind.”

“You’ll see.”

3/7 of the study group acquired

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“Hey Jack?” you slide up next to him in class, propping your chin in your hand while sitting down next to him, not even a minute after the bell rung.

“No.” he simply replies. Not even glancing at you as he continues packing his notes into his bag.

“W-what? What do you mean by “no”? I haven’t even told you what I wanted yet.” you sputter while trying to find your footing again after letting your chin slip from your hand.

“You probably want to copy my notes before the midterms or worse start a study group with those guys over there.” he points in the direction of the door, without even looking up from his bag, where Ace, Deuce, and Grim are not so subtly spy into the room, to gauge how successful your attempts of convincing Jack to join the study group is.

You pointedly look at them, they seem to get the message and disappear behind the doorframe.

“Also how are you here already? The bell to signal the end of the class has barely gone off.”

“Don’t worry about that… Is there any way I could convince you to join us? We could really use someone who can keep us in check and keep us from going on tangents all the time.” you ask him hopefully.

“Sorry, but you know I prefer to keep to myself.“ he easily rejects you.

You let out an exhausted sigh. Dropping your head in disappointment. “Well. I should have expected that I wouldn’t be able to convince you right now. Don’t worry I’ll be back in a bit with a bit of peer pressure in a bit.”

“Wha- no don’t come-“ Before he could even finish his sentence you walk away towards the other end of the classroom.

You walk up to a boy who's still copying down notes from the blackboard into his notebook. You tap the boy on his shoulder to get his attention away from the notes.

“Hey, Epel. I was wondering if you wanted to join Ace, Deuce, Grim, and me for a study group over the weekend?” you ask with a tilt of the head.

He gives himself a second to think about it before he nods. “Sure sounds interesting enough. I’ll just need to let Vil or Rook know.” you two brace yourselves for the enigmatic hunter to appear out of nowhere as he tends to do.

After a second of him not spawning out of nowhere you two let go of the breath you were holding.

“I’ll text you when I let one of those two know about the study group.”

You happily nod at him and walk out of the classroom, back towards the trio waiting outside.

“So how did it go? Were you able to convince them?” They asked before they started walking towards the next class.

“As expected Jack declined. Not that it matters he’ll join in later. Epel just needs to let either Rook or Vil know and he’s good to go. Were you able to reach Riddle?”

“Sadly yes. We now have a literal mountain of books to review and even more, summaries to write.” complaints Ace.

“We just have to carry them over to Ramshackle later today and we’re good to go.” adds Deuce.

“Who else do we invite?” asks Grim as he hops back onto your shoulder.

You think about your friends’ schedule and wonder where they might be, but before you can remember properly the bell rang signaling the brake would soon be over.

You hurried to your next class before you’d be late, and before the class could even end you already made arrangements for who would be the next one of your friends invited, or rather unceremoniously dragged into your study group.

4/7 of the study group acquired

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Lunch has barely even started and the cafeteria is already crammed with students.

Luckily you aren’t in their midst today. You have another mission.

You make your way through the empty hallways of NRC until you finally reach the club room you were searching for.

Polite as you are, you knock on the door of the Film Research Club. After a short pause, you hear Ortho come to the door and open it.

His expression lights up as he realizes that it’s you. “Hello Prefect. Are you here to take some more pictures?”

“Hey, Ortho. No not today. I’m just here to ask if you want to join my study group. We were planning on studying over the weekend at Ramshackle, and I was wondering if you wanted to join?” you explain giving him an abridged version of what else you were planning to do.

“That does sound great. I’d love to join you guys, but I’m unsure of how much of a help I will be with studying since I’m technically exempt from taking the test. With you know being able to always look up the answers on the internet.” he explains.

“I don’t think that’ll be much of an issue. See it like this, you can correct us whenever we’re wrong about something or laugh at our misery.”

“You make convincing arguments Prefect. I’m in.” the two of you nod excitedly at each other before you walk away.

5/7 of the study group acquired

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You walk to the cafeteria where you sit down next to your friends and a certain traitorous someone.

“Ortho is also joining us.” you announce as you accept your tray of food from Epel. Your friends cheer in celebration.

“So who else besides Jack is missing?” Epel asks, while ignoring Jack who again denies joining your study group.

“Someone I need to catch before they fully leave the cafeteria. Otherwise, I probably won't be able to convince them.” you explain quickly in between bites.

Your friends nod in acknowledgment and continue talking or rather argue about anything and everything, but studying.

You continue holding out an eye for the second to last victim on your study buddy list, until you see a very particular table of students stand up to walk out of the cafeteria.

You quickly follow them, but not before thanking your friend for the food and for saving you a seat.

“Hold him hostage for as long as you can alright? I’ll be right back.” are your last words before rushing out of the cafeteria after the Diasomnia students.

You call out to the students when they’re not as far away anymore.

“Hornton, Lilia, Silver, Sebek.” you nod at each of them as a quick greeting, but you make sure to greet Sebek with that tone of voice that lets him know you’re planning something that will annoy him.

Sebek scowls at you trying to figure out what you’re planning, that is before immediately doing the Sebek thing and reprimanding you for how casually you’re talking to his young master.

Before he can go on an entire tangent about how disrespectful a Human like you is he gets interrupted by Lilia.

“What brings us the honor that you felt the need to rush after us in such a hurry?”

“Right. I wanted to ask Sebek if he wanted to join me and a bunch of other first years over the weekend for a study session.” you explain excitedly

Before Sebek even gets the chance to turn down your invitation, both Lilia and Malleus accept for him.

“Oh that sounds fun doesn’t it Sebek? If my memory serves me right you were just complaining about not having anyone to study with.” Lilia smiles, that smug little grin he has, at Sebek as Malleus nods in agreement.

Sebek stares at you, bewildered but not surprised at what has just happened. “You were planning this.” he observed.

You quickly hide the thumbs up you were giving Lilia before you innocently smile back at Sebek. “Who me? I wasn’t planning anything. I just wanted to hang out and study with my friends.”

Before Sebek could throw more of a fuss you push him back towards the cafeteria, where your friends and your last victim waited for you two.

You quickly wave at the three other Diasomnia members, some more awake than the other, before they walk away.

6/7 of the study group acquired

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You successfully make your way back to the cafeteria with Sebek in tow, while you two walk he reiterates multiple times that he’ll only stay as long as he has to and that he won't hesitate to leave if you all slow him down with his studying.

Which is fair.

As you approach the cafeteria you notice that most of the students have finished their lunch already. The only table looking remotely filled is the one of your friends, now joined by Ortho.

“We got Sebek.” you announce as you walk up to the table. Raising his arm with you before he can do anything about it.

Sebek pulls his arm back to his side before sitting down at the table and greeting the other first years. You sit down next to him before joining the mindless chit charter.

After a not so short while everyone's gaze slowly panned over to Jack, with the exception of Sebek, who looked around at the table confused before looking at Jack as well.

“So… Jack.” you tentatively asked. “How about joining us now? You wouldn’t be the only reasonable person anymore.”

Jack looks around the table and sees everyone’s expectant gaze before he finally sighs in acceptance and nods. “Fine, I’ll join your study group.”

The table bursts into cheers. Ace and Grim start cackling, Deuce and Epel give each other a high five, and you and Ortho woop in celebration, all while Sebek and Jack wonder why they agreed to work with you all.

7/7 of the study group acquired

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Omake:

“Did they just run after the Diasomnia table?” Deuce asks bewildered. “I think they did. Do y’all think they’ll ask Malleus to join us?” asks Epel concerned. “Sevens I hope not.” is all Ace has to add to that conversation.

[sky-scribbles]

I wrote a Rook!Blackwall fic, because I couldn't stop thinking about him having a bi awakening in his fifties. ~2000 words. Discussed Emmrook, background Dorian/Bull.

Small cw for discussions of societal and internalised queerphobia, and toxic masculinity.

—

‘I was wondering,’ says Thom Rainier, looking everywhere except at Dorian’s face, ‘if I could ask you for advice. About… something personal.’

Well, now, this is interesting. In all their time serving together in the Inquisition, Dorian can’t recall Rainier ever asking for his opinion on anything. Which is a pity. He could, for instance, have attempted, oh, Dorian, please advise me on how to stop smelling like the saddest stable in the South! Or, Dorian, you are so boundlessly charming – however can I become like you? And Dorian would say, alas, no one in Thedas could ever be me but me. And it would be a delightful little moment of friendship.

These touching scenes did not occur, however. And now, a decade later, Thom Rainier is in a Shadow Dragon safehouse, glowering at the ground, and belatedly realising how valuable Dorian’s opinions truly are.

So Dorian smiles and leans forward across the table. ‘Oh, do tell.’

Rainier doesn’t lift his head, but his eyes flick across to the door where his Qunari friend has disappeared to talk with Mae and Tarquin, as if checking it’s still closed. Then they snap over to where Ashur’s flicking through reports on Venatori movements. ‘It’s private,’ he says gruffly.

Ashur must hear this, because he gathers his papers and melts out of the room without comment. There's a pause as his footfalls vanish from earshot. Then Rainier glances up at Dorian across the table and says, ‘You know how your lot have been helping Taash figure out their… everything?’

‘Yes,’ Dorian says slowly. Does he disapprove? No – he’s not the type. Rainier’s worst crime is being a sloven, not a bigot. (Well, his worst crime was probably the murder, but, still.) No; far more likely that Rainier wants to know how to offer support. ‘If you’ve questions, ask away! Though it’s not my personal field of experience – you’d do better talking to Maevaris and Tarquin.’

(Actually, better not encourage him to talk to Tarquin. Two bearded ex-soldiers with crass tongues and a fondness for mocking the aristocracy might be a bit much.)

‘No. It needs to be you. I was wondering…’ Rainier swallows, and when he speaks again, it’s as if every word is being dragged up with a great, humiliated effort. ‘If you could talk about… something like that. With me.’

Dorian stares at him. He wants to… to talk about these matters. In regards to himself.

No. He can’t be. Thom Rainier?

‘How do you know if you –’ Rainier stops, flushed as red as a youngster taking their first peek at the Randy Dowager Quarterly. For a short period, he seems to struggle with concepts larger than his brain is used to containing, then manages, ‘If you like… men. How do you know?’

Oh. Oh, this is absolutely happening. Dorian leans against the table, a grin forming on his face. ‘Oh, my.’

Rainier holds up a hand. ‘Don’t start.’

Unfortunately for him, this is a glorious moment that Dorian will savour for the remainder of his living days on Thedas. He cannot wait to tell Bull. ‘Warden Rainier, I would never have guessed. Having naughty thoughts about some strapping lad, are we?’

‘Please,’ Rainier says, and there’s a note in his voice that makes Dorian stop short. Something pained and confused. His eyes finally meet Dorian's, and with a jolt Dorian is thirteen years old and at one of the Pavus family parties, watching an older boy laugh, eyes hungrily taking in the set of his shoulders, every last twitch of the muscles around his mouth – and thinking oh, yes and oh, no.

And Dorian looks back at the hairy, irritating man who spent a year in the Inquisition trading barbs with him. This is the man who strode unflinching to the gallows and declared that he had never been Blackwall. Looking at Dorian, so clearly scared.

Dorian’s grin fades.

‘Forgive me,’ he says. ‘That was... unhelpful.’ If the man is going through he kind of crisis that it looks increasingly apparent that he is, he needs aid, not belittlement or goading. He pulls up a chair and sits down, and Rainier, after a minute of continued awkward staring, does likewise.

Where to start? How does one know that they like men, Rainier asked, and – well, how is Dorian to answer that? Looking at men with admiration and, later, with lust, had been so obvious, so easy, sopowerful.

‘Well,’ Dorian says at last. ‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? What set your mind on this particular line of thought?’

Rainier picks at a flaw in the tabletop, his head still bowed. ‘There’s someone I met recently. And he’s…’

A long pause. That seems to be all that’s forthcoming. Kaffas, this is going to be like trying to get wine stains out of silk. ‘And he’s caught your eye, has he?’

‘He’s… he’s a gentleman. Graceful. Clever. Treats everyone around him with respect, and sees the good in them. Even when they don’t deserve it.’

Ah, the good old Rainier self-loathing. It’s almost nostalgic. ‘And you think you might be taken with him, hmm? And you’re trying to figure out if it’s just a respectful admiration, or something rather more disrespectful.’

Rainier’s head comes up sharply. ‘Do you have to make it sound like that?’

‘My apologies.’ Dorian makes a placating gesture. ‘Quite seriously, though: what is it you want from him?’

It’s the question he asked himself a dozen times, sweat-soaked and breathing hard, tangled in Bull’s limbs and sheets. Every time the kisses became that little bit softer. Every time Bull ran his hands down Dorian’s chest without any hunger, just with quiet tenderness. The question howling in the back of Dorian’s head: what do you want from him?

‘I want –’ Rainier begins, with another difficult forcing-up of words. ‘I want to… to treat him like he deserves to be treated. He doesn’t say it, but sometimes, the way he talks… he’s lonely. I see it. He’s spent too long in the dark, with his bones and his books, and he’s got all this – this feeling and no one to give it to. A man like that should be courted. Given flowers and a shield to stand behind and someone to make him feel like he’s…’

‘Cherished? Worshipped? Like he has a faithful knight ready to lay the world at his feet?’

‘Yes. All of that.’

‘And you like the idea that you might be the one to do that?’

A nod.

‘Then… forgive me, but what on earth would make you believe that you don’t have an interest in men? Have you never looked at a man that way before?’

Rainier blinks. His lips start to shape a no, then stop. Dorian watches something complicated happen on his face.

‘I won’t say I’ve never looked at a man to admire him,’ he says slowly. ‘Or had one I wanted to please, or pay me attention. But – don’t all men sometimes see each other that way? Everyone has to a little bit, unless they’re not interested in anyone like that –’

Dorian laughs; he can’t help it. And then he seems the bewildered look on Rainier’s face, and laughs harder.

‘Oh, big man, no,’ he says, when he’s finally got a hold of himself. ‘And I rather think men who are interested in women exclusively don’t tend to fantasize about being the courtly knight who gives the lonely gentleman the romance of his dreams.’

The longest silence yet. Then Rainier says, ‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed.

Rainier sighs. The tension that’s been brimming in his entire frame starts to trickle away, and he looks… tired, now, more than anything else. He sits for a minute in silence, and Dorian, sensing that he needs the quiet, waits.

‘I’m getting toward sixty,’ Rainier says at last. ‘Shouldn’t I have figured this kind of thing out by now?’

‘Not necessarily. You’re from Markham, yes? I’ve heard that this kind of thing can be just as much of a scandal in the South as it is here, if not done discreetly. Not to mention…’ Dorian flicks his eyes over the man, taking in the hands calloused from years holding a sword and shield, the weather-beaten face, the old scars. ‘You were a soldier, weren’t you? Surrounded by all that manliness. I know the type – people for whom having a way with ladies is what makes them a man. Around such pitifully small minds, acknowledging interest in another direction tends to be unwelcome.’

Dorian has no experience of the culture of soldiers, of course. But Tarquin’s spoken a little of his time in the army: the judgement, the snide remarks, the disgust flung at anyone who dared to live beyond the narrow roles Tevinter prescribes for its people. Tarquin, even then, had the confidence to make an obscene gesture at his fellow soldiers and tell them to go and have sex with themselves. But Rainier… no, Dorian can’t see him as having that certainty. He’s always distrusted himself too much.

Rainier stares at the tabletop, perhaps recalling a time ten years ago where he mocked frilly Orlesian cakes and pink bloodstone weapons. At last he says, ‘You ever been around people who’ll jump on you if you like anything too…’

 ‘Soft? Oh, have I.’ Maker, is Dorian really having a moment of understanding the man? Are they relating? ‘And when all those good, masculine fellows don’t talk about what they feel… well, how were you to reach any conclusion about your own interests? You never saw anyone like yourself who would confess to such feelings. That was for dazzling fops like myself.’

Rainier laughs, but there are all kinds of realisations happening behind his eyes. Sympathy surges through Dorian, so powerful it’s startling.

‘You’ve never seen or heard anything that might suggest a man like you could have an interest in men,’ he says gently. ‘No suggestion at all that you could simply be allowed.’

And Rainier presses a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes. He says, quietly and with deep feeling, ‘Maker’s balls.’

‘Oh, don’t fret about it. If it’s any reassurance: I know for a fact that in some circles, large hairy men are considered very, very attractive indeed.’

To his delight, this is enough to make Rainier look both flustered and a little flattered. Dorian grins at him, and gets to his feet. ‘Do you know, I think it’s high time we both had some wine.’

He pats the big block of a man on the shoulder, feeling inexplicably fond of him, and heads to the storeroom. By the time he returns, bearing the essential comfort of a nice Vol Dorma vintage and two glasses, Rainier has propped his elbows on the table and is resting his chin in his folded hands. He looks... calmer. Close to smiling. Dorian pours him a sizeable glass and pushes it over to him.

Rainier takes it, considers it for a moment, and takes a sip. ‘Now what?’

‘Now? Well, first of all, why don’t you have a word with this gentleman of yours - what's his name?’

‘Emmrich,’ Rainier says, like it's a phrase from the Chant of Light.

‘Ah, Nevarran.’ A broader-minded people than either of their own. ‘Do you happen to know where his interests lie?’

‘He’s been with men,’ Rainier says slowly. ‘Women too. But I don’t… I don’t know if he…’

‘Might have an interest in you? Well, you have two options.’ Dorian sets his glass down and taps one finger. ‘One: you can take the route I always did, which is to get drunk well past the point of good sense, make sure you get him equally so, then wake up in his bed the next morning and go again. Then you proceed to not talk about it at all, and you wait until a few days later when you suddenly find yourself peeling off his clothes. Repeat, because you’re scared to say that you want him, not just his body, and you’re terrified it’ll end if you dare voice that aloud, and so sex is the closest you can get to the closeness you want with him.’ He gives Rainier a broad smile. ‘And then several months down the line, you haven’t slept in your own bed in weeks and he’s started to call you pet names, and you still haven’t told him you adore him, and now it’s awkward.’

There’s a pause.

‘Which all worked out splendidly for me, I might add,’ Dorian says, fingering the chain around his neck that bears a dragon-tooth pendant, hidden beneath his robes. ‘Though perhaps it wasn’t the most graceful way of falling into a relationship.’

Another pause, while Rainier stares, blinks, and finally says, ‘And option two would be?’

Dorian taps a second finger. ‘You roundly humiliate me by doing what I never could. Namely, you walk up to that man, tell him you’re rather taken with him and want something closer, and have the courage to face him saying no. Or, still more terrifying, saying yes.’

Rainier seems to consider this. Then he sweeps up his glass and tips the whole thing back in a way that’s both tasteless and – Dorian has to admit it, happily committed though he is – just a tiny bit hot.

With a decided motion, Rainier sets the empty glass down on the table. ‘Option two it is, then.’

[ashton-ryder]

Despite how JP tried to make it sound like a good time that Sada was family, Ashton inherently disagreed. And therein lies the problem of why there was always a line drawn between. "Then she won't ever let me be a part of it." It wasn't an opinion up for discussion, it was a fact simply stated. Whether evident only now or later, Sada made it clear to him that they were all hers. He didn't belong in it. It's why no matter how much Charlie and Jeremiah says he's welcome up on the 10th floor, the air there was always unwelcoming to his presence, knowing she was right there, as if daring him to overstep his place and learn what the consequences were.

It didn't exactly comfort him the way JP said it, the word that raised immediate alarm bells, "yet." Ash appreciated the gesture but yet always held the ominous weight of it being true sooner or later. "So if you had the reasons, you would," the overthinker in him dissecting his words that Ash wished he kept to himself, just thank JP and move on, and hope he doesn't ever tell her. It was enough of an assurance, Ash should be thankful for that, yet because it was something so close to his heart, he wanted to stay guarded.

He let the silence mull over for a moment or two, the fact that JP never knew all this time, while Ashton had assumed he did. "I had a mission in New York, with a small team, there was a terrorist threat, we had to stop them at all costs," Ashton let his voice simmer down to rationality, explaining the thing that probably started it all, "one of those threats neutralized was one of Sada's main suppliers. Didn't even know till years later when I moved here." It disturbed him to know that Sada was able to get intel on the marine squad from that mission either way. But there's nothing else to it, that's all.

You're still one of us, don't ever doubt that again. Ashton gaze bore into the ground and space between them, trying to will those words to sink in well, because it was nice to hear, a comfort and reassurance of a constant between the fine lined cracks. "..okay," Ash murmured with a nod, corner of his lips twitched with a small smile. Watery blues only looked up then when JP apologized, a rare occurrence especially a completely sincere one. He wanted to brush it off, say it's fine, sweep it water under the bridge, but that seemed to belittle JP's sincerity, and the hurt Ash had felt. "And I'm sorry I never said anything before." He had a bad habit of internalizing, he knew, but it has always been the safest course of action.

He exhaled a breath that came out like a chuckle, "that's a pretty tall order of a promise," warning to give him an out. Though Ashton wouldn't blame him for breaking it. "And you know you have me, all of you." I'm not leaving. "We cleaned up the broken glass." Or at least a bulk of it and assumed Jeremiah cleaned the rest after asking him to leave.

The shared status of Ash and Sada being chosen to join in the ranks of the Rose family hadn't mattered to John-Paul before and it wouldn't now - regardless of how angry he was with her at the moment. There wasn't a choice between them. It was, and always would be, both. He would just need to learn how to navigate the thin, fragile line he toed by keeping his loyalty where it lay. "Yeah, well, how else do you think I know how to cut deep when I want to?" he asked rhetorically. "Family," he explained simply.

Bittersweet as it was, it was a victory that Ash hadn't once again dismissed John-Paul's mentioning of the two men being involved in any way deeper than friendship. What little spike of joy he'd felt over Ash finally admitting there as something there dissipated almost as soon as it came, Ash's panic almost visible in the dim light of the moon. "Haven't yet," he reminded him with a small shake of his head. "And I don't see a reason to start telling anyone," he added in assurance. He knew all too well what it felt like to want bits and pieces to remain hidden.

"I'm not trying to start up all the shit again, but I would think it's pretty fucking apparent no one tells me anything," he went on with a sigh, leaning against the railing. "So, no, she hasn't told me. Why do you think I had to ask?" he added rhetorically, though his self-disappointemtent was evident. He picked at his fingers, trying his best to focus his gaze as they blurred the longer he stared at them. He knew he was a lot of things, but he'd always be proud of his trustworthiness. It was a hard blow to find out it had all been an illusion.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck is going to happen after all this shit, but I know one thing and that's that your still one of us. I don't care whatever the fuck is going on between you and Sada, don't ever doubt that again. Alright," he told him, finally letting his gaze find Ash once more. " And.....I'm....sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't. I promise you'll always have me, no matter what, okay?"

[toddtakefive]

btw todd’s reluctance to join the dps because he doesn’t want to read (which is then accommodated for) and is scared to put himself out there (which is also worked through) being read as todd not wanting to go AT ALL, and thus neil making the proper accommodations (“todd anderson, who prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings”) and encouraging him to step out of the box that stifles him being seen as ‘forceful’ or like he can’t take no for an answer makes me insane with rage

[sonknuxadow]

I’m honestly surprised that people are saying Keanu reeves is a bad choice despite the popular fan discussions about it. Where I’m at in the internet, he’s considered a good choice and people were excited.

i cant speak for everyone obviously but ive always thought he was a bad choice for shadow ever since the idea started going around 2 years ago. because from what ive heard personally he doesnt really sound like shadow + i hate it when big movie stars are given voice acting roles in movie adaptations just to have a big name attached to the project even if theyre not good for the role. and this definitely feels like that. back in the day people were only saying he should be shadow NOT because his voice actually fits but because hes an edgy action guy or whatever and movie sonic is canonically a fan of him/his movies and they could make jokes out of that. and i feel like thats Still what a lot of peoples reasoning is which annoys me because shadow isnt just an edgy action guy and i dont think his voice should be chosen based on a joke of all things especially if the voice isnt fitting enough to justify it

not gonna say my opinion is the most popular but i know that there are a lot of people who agree with me on this, or at the very least are unsure about it. a lot of people dont want him

[princesssarcastia]

i have a problem with the theory that by not voting for democrats and letting democrats lose badly enough this november, we can force them to take a good hard look at themselves and swing to the left. well, actually, there are a couple problems, but here's tonight's object lesson:

the problem is the RNC Autopsy.

Republicans got pretty well spanked in the 2012 presidential election, and VERY well spanked in the 2008 presidential election. people decided not to vote for republicans, and let them lose so badly that the republican party took a good hard look at themselves.

The result was a report released in 2013, wiki page linked above. And they did exactly what some people on the left hope democrats will do in the coming years, should they lose in november 2024! They said hey, apparently being racist and hating poor people and only talking to whites isn't getting us anywhere! Why don't we try a different, kinder, more inclusive approach if we want to win elections?

Nice, right? Good proof of concept?

Unfortunately, history didn't stop in 2013.

Unfortunately, we all know how this story ends. It ends with a fascist reality TV star becoming president and encouraging the republican party that actually, its problem is that it wasn't racist and poor-hating enough. Actually, Trump told the republican party, your problem is that you've gone too long without saying the quiet part out loud. No more euphemisms, no more obfuscation, and definitely no movement to the left. Be full-throated in your hatred of immigrants.

And, like it or not, that did win Trump the election. Which convinced the republican party that he was right. They completely abandoned the ideas proposed in the RNC autopsy, and I don't know that they'll ever find their way back to that point.

So, when people say they don't want to support democrats, and they hope that by letting democrats lose the elections they'll move the democratic party to the left...i wouldn't be so sure.

In fact, if that happens, what I predict we'll see is a democratic party prepared to swing to the right. Sure, it'll still have a progressive wing. The Squad will live on. But they'll be increasingly ostracized by a party that will be even more obsessed with courting the forgotten white man, by toning down its inclusivity, by backing off of more expansive social safety nets and wealth taxes.

Like it or not—I certainly find it depressing to consider—Joe Biden is the most left-leaning president we've had in a long, long time. Certainly since Jimmy Carter, and perhaps since even before him. If he loses in November, if his party loses in November, I guarantee their washington insider strategists will find a way to blame it on progressiveness and walk us back at least a decade, if not more.

I'm not happy about any of this. But this is, I believe, the reality we're facing.

[laesas]

Seeing someone's awful, self-righteous, bad faith, rage bait take and realising that you already have them blocked for their other dogshit opinions 👌👌👌

[boobearymuch]

Their Favorite Underwear (On You) —♡ LADS Headcanons

—♡Summary: They certainly have interesting preferences, that's for sure. —♡Tags: NSFW, suggestive, sex implied, afab!reader, no pronouns used, fingering, panty sniffing/licking —♡A/N: done staring at this I'm throwing it out into the wild —♡ masterlist

—♡ Caleb

Caleb’s favorite pair of underwear on you is somewhat an innocent pick. A worn out pair of cotton panties you’ve had since high school. 

They have some kind of pattern—either horizontal stripes, flowers, a repeating print of the cookie monster—doesn’t matter, he loves it all. 

They remind him of simpler times—laundry day when you were younger—and how they’d get caught up in his own load by accident. You’d flush bright red when he stopped by your door to drop them off, but he’d just throw his head back with a laugh and tell you it's fine.

He’s never told you how close he came to pocketing them instead.

In the present, he’s found himself on laundry duty again. The colonel is dumping your basket of dirty clothes into the washer when a familiar pair of cotton panties fall in. 

He doesn’t even bother looking around; Caleb reaches for them, breath hitching when he realizes they’re the same pair from before. He can’t believe you still have them. You really ought to buy some new clothes…

Something dark—hot—coils in his belly when he turns the gusset inside out and lifts the fabric to his trembling lips. 

It smells divine—a little on the tangy side, but he’ll make sure you drink more water from here on out. 

Then his tongue finally laps at the inner lining, and Caleb’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head. 

His hips jerk against the washing machine just thinking about sinking his tongue into your actual—

Your voice abruptly floats down the hall, some question he can barely hear, and Caleb tells you he’ll be right there.

Perhaps he will pocket these for later, after all…

—♡ Xavier

Xavier’s favorite pair of underwear on you…is actually his own.

His boxer briefs are basically yours at this point. 

When you sleep over and need a change of clothes, he just lets you borrow his; which is how you end up in an oversized shirt and boxer briefs in the first place.

Seeing you in his clothes is a thrill of its own, but seeing you in his underwear?

It’s an entirely new level of intimacy that has his ears burning red and his slow heart skipping a beat.

You wouldn’t wear just anyone’s underwear to bed, you’re wearing his.

He gets oddly clingy when you do, sliding in behind you in bed and nuzzling your shoulder as you scroll through your phone. 

You make some comment about a post you saw, but he’s hardly listening. Instead, his hand is sliding down your hip, stroking the fabric of his underwear and the heat of your skin. It brings a soft smile to his lips.

Xavier can’t help but think the slit of his boxer briefs is silly on you, sliding his fingers inside to gently stroke your pubes. It’s usually innocent, he just likes the texture.

But the hitch of your breath darkens his gaze, and Xavier gently coaxes you to continue scrolling as his hand sinks lower…

He hums in response to your little moan, fingers curling up into your slick heat. His other hand reaches around to take the phone out of your faltering grip and slams it against the nightstand. 

Xavier’s selfish, he admits—he doesn’t want you distracted by anything else while you’re wearing his clothes, his underwear…

You need to borrow another pair of boxer briefs by the time he’s done with you.

—♡ Zayne

Zayne’s favorite pair of underwear on you is not one you expected—thongs. He’s secretly crazy for them. Well, that might be an overstatement—but he enjoys the sight of you in them very much.

You’re surprised to learn about Zayne’s preference, though he doesn’t readily disclose it at first. You have to feign trouble picking between two sets of underwear first, and shove your phone into his face for an opinion. 

“...The one on the right.” The cool response is only betrayed by a fervent blush on his cheeks.

He likes slipping his fingers under the thin string, teasing and tugging. It leaves very little to the imagination; straight to the point.

Your order comes in, and Zayne secretly watches you slide them up your legs as you both get ready for a banquet. It’s all his mind keeps wandering back to throughout the night. 

Not only are you wearing underwear he picked out, but you’re wearing them to mingle with his colleagues. A rather distracting thought, isn’t it?

At one point during the night, you bend over to grab something, and the lack of a panty line reminds Zayne all over again what you’re sporting underneath.

He approaches calmly, interrupting a conversation with his colleagues by wrapping an arm around your waist. 

His excuse to leave early is well thought out—you suspect he’s had it in mind since arriving—but you’re barely listening when his hand wanders low.

It slides down your backside, and he absently thumbs the string of your thong through the fabric of your dress. 

…The car ride home is a short one, to say the least.

—♡ Sylus

If you asked Sylus, he’d say he prefers you in no underwear at all. 

But, if he had to choose, he’s rather fond of a simple red lace. Comfortable, practical, sexy. 

Not to mention, red is absolutely your color. The fact that it’s his too is merely a…happy coincidence. 

When he’s stocking up your closet in the N109 zone, Sylus makes sure to order only the best luxury brands exclusively in various shades of red.

The idea of you sauntering around base in his color is enough to make him purr at the sight of you, even when your underwear isn’t visible.

He makes a game out of guessing what pair you have on; is it the scarlet one with bows? Or perhaps the strappy maroon? 

Sylus finds out at dinner; you’re laughing at some ridiculous story when you uncross your legs, and there’s a flash of vermilion underneath your skirt. 

The one with heart cutouts? My my, you only wear that one when you want something…

His eyes roam you up and down as you continue your story, but you stumble over your words when a swirling red mist drags your chair closer to his.

You were quite bold for wearing such a bright color in public, and if anyone other than him was to catch sight of it…

Well, we can’t have that, can we?

Your breath hitches when his hand roams your thigh, smug eyes never leaving yours. His calloused fingers ghost the hem of your skirt, and your words trail off in anticipation of what’s to come next.

Sylus grips the fabric and tugs your skirt…down. 

Your face burns as he leans back with a chuckle, “You were saying?

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel’s favorite pair of underwear? Brazilian panties, next question.

They sit high above your hip bones while accentuating the curve of your tummy; absolutely divine.

Of course, you look divine in everything; hell, you’d look perfect in only a seashell to cover your modesty. But something about the aesthetic of these panties, specifically, gets him insanely hot and bothered.

He brings you back gifts from his trip overseas, but he flushes and fervently denies having anything to do with the three pairs of panties tucked behind the body lotions and skincare.

Rafayel quickly changes his tune when you suggest modelling them for him, though.

That’s how you end up changing into them right then and there, a minty lace pair with a little satin rose sewn to the front. You rejoin Rafayel, who’s been waiting patiently on his bed.

Rafayel can’t speak, only tugs the back of your thigh closer as he swallows thickly. 

Your pubes peek out the sides due to the nature of the design, and you make an offhand comment about shaving the next time you wear them. Rafayel immediately shakes his head—as if offended—and grips the sides of your hips, thumbs hiking the side wings further up. 

He flushes, and his nostrils flare right before he lowers his head to lick a stripe up your lace front.

His tongue burns through the fabric, and the Lemurian lets out a shuddering breath against your stomach. You barely register the chill down your spine when he licks you again, this time his teeth catching on the waistband.

You never get to try the other two pairs on for him…

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetic torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[rex3o]

Doting wife p2

Royal au! Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna sat on his throne, his face intense as his son plays around him. His advisors standing quietly in front him their heads bowed. His mind lingered on the event that was a couple weeks ago. Since then, he has not stopped.

Every dinner, he makes sure that whatever is served is to your liking, just to see your happy silent reaction when eating. He has ordered the servants to tend to the royal gardens, to plant specific flowers according to your preferences. Just to watch you walk around the garden with your son and enjoy the flowers. He made you go horse riding with him, just to talk about things you liked.

During his meetings with his advisors he would call for you and ask your opinion on certain matters in his meetings with his advisors.

Yet he knows you still hold yourself back around him, he knows you silently enjoy the effort he is putting despite getting onto him during the event. Though your silent enjoyment and appreciation is enough for him. He longs for more.

He longs for you to willing spend time with him again. He longs for your attention and care he had stupidly taken granted for.

His mind settles back into reality as one of his advisors had briefly mentioned about getting his son's portrait painted for his fourth birthday. There it struck sukuna.

-

You huffed as you stood by your mirror, as your lady in waiting examined the maids handling your gown ensuring it was perfect for the portrait. As they tended your hair, and make up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Several hours alone with Sukuna. You pondered 'why' ever since you got the news that Sukuna had requested a new royal portrait of you two. You had one which was done a couple days after your wedding and not one since. So why one now?

Lost in thought, the maids finished and you made your way mindlessly towards the main hall, with your lady in waiting behind you. As you looked up, the painter smiled at you motioning you to sit next to Sukuna, as he is ready to paint. Your lady in waiting helped you up to your seat, whilst doing some finishing touches and ensured your dress was quite fine as she walked back to the painter as he started sketching.

The first few minutes, was met with silence. You remained still, only toying with the ring on your finger, as the only thing heard in the room was the harsh streaks of the pencil against the canvas.

"You look beautiful" he utters out quietly for you both to hear. You simply nod in response.

Sukuna tries to carry the conversation by asking how your day had been, if you had eaten, or how your son was and what he did. Till he softly sighs and glances at you.

"I miss you." he says.

"I am right here husband.. no need to miss me" You say without much emotion not wanting to be vulnerable.

"you know what I mean..." as he looks back up.

"I see how your face lights up at dinner, I watch how you enjoy your time in the gardens with our son. How you only like reading a certain genre of books.. how you only like to drink tea in the evening after dinner...how you despise insects after our horse riding trip."

He hesistatess before continuing.

"I wish you would share such moments with me again.. instead of me observing it from a distance. I want to hear how much you like the food that has been served. I want to walk along with you in the gardens with our son, as you ramble on whatever it is you like.. I want to drink tea with you- I just want to be with you again..."

You sat next to him somewhat speechless. Your hand gripping on the ring on your finger tightens as you take a sharp inhale and exhale holding composure.

"Why.. why has it taken you this long." Quickly and quietly you ask not wanting your voice to break. As your eyes remain on the painter and your lady in waiting. Afraid if you lay your eyes upon your husband tears will rush out.

"I have no excuse my wife.. the best way I can put it into words for you, is watching a candle burn down to its final flicker. Once it's gone and the darkness closes in, you finally understand how much that small, steady glow meant. You were that light in my life.. and i took it for granted."

He sighs as he continues "I am sorry it has taken me to loose you to understand the importance you hold in my life"

As he rests his large hand over yours.

"I may not have given you the love you well deserved over the past four years, but let me make the most of the years we have left to make it up to you. I will take however long it takes."

His hand wraps round yours as he takes it up and gently places a kiss on your knuckles. A tear slips down your face, which you quickly wipe away.

"it won't be easy-" you try to say yet Sukuna interrupts you.

"I know my sweet wife.. I know." As you finally look at him, his deep crimson eyes resting on yours. A quiet pull to one another, urging to be met.

Yet the moment broken by the painter looking up and exclaiming.

"Yes, yes, yes, the look of love keep that look your majesties, I need exactly that! and just you wait your portrait will overshadow any other." He says happily as he starts to paint.

Sukuna face having a subtle annoyance stretched over it, you chuckle quietly.

After the tedious hours of sitting for this portrait ends. The only thing keeping you going was your small conversations with Sukuna, as he his hand remained on yours not wanting to let go. You both walk over to see the work of art. As it depicted you sat facing forward with a soft smile on your face, with Sukuna next to you his hand over yours with his eyes on you.

An arm wrap around your waist, as Sukuna praises the painter.

"You definitely did outdo yourself, look at my wife" he exclaims as he looks at you. Not used to his attention you awkwardly chuckle and avoid his look. His hand grabbing your chin pulling your face up as he places a kiss on your forehead.

"My beautiful wife... you know what let's hold a celebration." Your eyes widen at the sudden plan.

"Over a portrait- no- that's too much." you interject.

"Hush, once people set their eyes upon this portrait they will understand why I had to hold such a celebration" Sukuna smirks at you.

You try to continue, but Sukuna doesn't let you as he looks at your lady in waiting.

"Next Wednesday I want the celebration, ensure my wife glows I want it to be about her-" As you try to speak Sukuna keeps cutting in on what to do for the event.

"Next Wednesday is my birthday!'" A small angry voice is heard, you laugh as your son did what you couldn't. He runs over as Sukuna picks up him.

"Apologises brat, then let it be his birthday AND a celebration-" Sukuna orders as your son continues to whine that it is his birthday.

In that moment, everything goes silent on your mind, as your gaze fixed on your husband and son, as you anxiously anticipated the oncoming years on your relationship with your husband.

The new painting embarking a new chapter in your rekindled love.

part 1

-

Authors note: OMLLLL thank you all so much for enjoying the first part guys oml- and im so sorry this took long to come out I was kinda busy w work and shii loool also like I was kinda stumped on how to continue this from the first chapter as I really didn't think further to continue it till ppl started asking for it. So, i am sorry if it seems a bit rushed. But I do hope this chapter does some sort of justice but unfortutnately I will only be leaving it at 2 parts and nothing more.

- R

[majinbangus]

You've always wanted a dog. It doesn't matter what kind, you'd be happy with any, but no matter how much discussion, Soap never budges, holding the exact opposite opinion about dogs. Which you understand given his experiences with them, but it's still a little disappointing.

Until he compromises one day under the condition he gets to choose the dog. Specifically a guard dog, in his words. One he's known and worked with multiple times. One he trusts to take care of his sweet lass. One that will protect.

You get so excited, you buy the collar and everything, eagerly waiting the day Soap is coming home with the dog... only to be confused when Ghost walks in behind him, no dog in sight.

"Uh, hi, Simon?" You peek around the man. Perhaps the dog is hidden behind the man's massive frame. It's not. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?" You shoot Soap a confused look. "And where's the dog you promised me?"

Soap chuckles at your confusion. "He's right here, sweetheart." He pats Ghost's shoulder, and the man takes one big step closer to you, closing the gap within that single stride. The shadow he casts somehow makes him look larger. "You said you'd be happy with anything, and I got you the best one! Ghost'll do anything you say—sit, stay, attack—you'll love him!"

You're not quite convinced. Can't lie and say you're not a little disappointed, but all thoughts of dissatisfaction are briefly forgotten when Ghost reaches down to grab your wrist, the one loosely holding the leather dog collar in hand, and undoes the buckle for you. He then guides your limp hands to slip it around his neck, adjusting it perfectly before letting your hands drop. When he pulls away, a shiver runs through you at the hungry gleam in his eyes, smirk evident in his voice.

"Woof."

You gulp. Maybe Soap is right. Maybe you will love him.

[peachsayshi]

(minors / ageless / blank blogs dni) ok but do you know how quick sukuna would fold in an argument if he ever made you cry?

we know he can get there. we know he can be difficult to communicate. but picture this:

he barks another reply, his responses always so sharp. the frustration gets you riled up and you can’t help but sniffle, can’t help but let the welling tears finally fall. you turn your back to him, your shoulders slump and miss the moment where the realization strikes him, where all the irritation and anger inside him evaporates.

“you…you can be such an ass…” you murmur, choking out a sob as you wipe your tears.

you don’t want him to see you.

two arms are around your waist then, “I’m sorry,” he huffs, “fuck, angel, I’m sorry, please don’t cry…”

and you turn to his embrace, because you love him. because his apologies are incredibly sincere towards you, and you alone. his voice is suddenly so gentle, his words chosen ever carefully.

yes, he can be vicious and rabid - but not towards you. never towards you. the guilt eats him up alive.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, keeping you firmly against him. his chin resting atop your head, one hand massaging the back of your neck.

people say he’s incapable of this, but his love towards you is immeasurable regardless of their opinion. they don’t understand and they never will. but in a moment like this he will always hold himself accountable, reminding himself never to cross this particular line with you.

you should never taste his cruelty, no matter how natural it exists within him.

so, when he cups your cheek in his palm, his eyes drooping in regret, you know that he recognizes his mistake. his thumb wipes away the tears, his lips pressing to the apple of your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, “I lost my temper”

you squeeze your hand around the fabric of his clothing, another shaky breath leaving you. but when you gaze up at him from underneath your lashes, you know you’ve already forgiven him.

he rests his forehead against yours, another kiss follows but it’s a peck to your lips.

“you need to work on that,” you pout, your hands reaching for his jaw and he melts between your fingers like butter.

“I’m trying,” he exhales, mostly disappointed in himself. “I’m trying…”

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[nishiyako]

After A Long Day (NSFW)

Paring : Kenji Sato x Reader

Tags : Doggy style, Vaginal penetration, Make outs, praise , after care, Fluffy ending, Reader has some type of long hair, established Relationship, Kenji has some sort of complex.

Summary : After a long day of work, Kenji comes home to his lovely girlfriend with a surprise, merch she got of his jersey. Seeing his name and player number on you does wonders to his already inflated ego.

Kenji Sato was everywhere, his face and name of hundreds of billboards and products, it dose something to someone's ego.

He loved the support from fans, the attention from media but most importantly, he loved coming home from a long day of interviews, events, and partiess to you.

Simple and lovable you.

He parked his bike outside before entering his mansion, placing his helmet and keys on the dinner table before seeing you sitting in the living room on your phone while the TV was running.

He made his way over to you, your eyes looked up from your phone screen to see him suddenlt infront of you, you can't lie that you got a little startled but you were more happy he was back before it got too late,

He bends down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face in the process. He sits beside you as he unzips his biker jacket, "whatcha' watching?" He asks, wondering what's got you so focused this late at night, throwing his jacket to the end of the couch promising himself he'll clean it up later, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling himself closer.

"It's a tie between the TV and my phone if I'm being honest" you giggled placing your phone down, you met his loving gaze, placing your hand on his chest, softly kissing his cheek "how was your day sweetheart?" You asked softly, almost as a way of apologizing on you being so voided.

"Good, busy as always." He said like he was waiting for that question all day, meeting your hand on his chest, moving it, holding it while it rests on his lap "Well, it was mostly interviews and shooting for promotions for the team, after that we had a few drinks."

You listened intently as he got into the details of his day, complaining mostly. Giving your thoughts and opinions whenever he asked.

"That's about it. What did you do the whole day?" He asked after wrapping up his day, "Nothing really, just watched TV and cleaned up here a bit, " you said plainly before you stood up from the couch.

"Something I ordered came in the mail though," you said with a smile on your face. "Yeah? What is it?" He asked, as your smile peaked his intrest.

You took his hand, pulling him over to the bedroom, perverted thoughts alredy entering his mind, thinking you probably ordered some slutty liengre and wanted to show him.

You sat him down on the bed as you escaped into the bathroom, asking him to wait for a moment as you closed the door.

As soon as that door shuts he alredy started imagining what you're gonna walk out wearing, probably wearing something tight and strapy, an idiotic smile alredy appearing on his lips from picturing you in something that small.

But he remembered you weren't the type to get something like that, maybe a new dress? Something light for summer. His past thoughts still lingering no matter how cute the dress would be, imagining just lifting it over your hips and fucking you dumb.

His hands covered his red tinted face from just imagening it, sexual frustration just from you keeping him in suspense, "Ken? You ready?" Your voice through the door snapping him back to reality "Huh? Yeah, yeah." He said, a slight stutter from his voice.

You creecked the door open, as he took a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

You wore an oversized jearsy with his team's name on it, it looked simple enough, He thought it was cute, swing you show support for his team, practicly his second family.

Until you turned around, moving your hair to the side and there he saw it, a big 7 and his last name on your back.

You couldn't miss it either, it was right there, black bold lettering on the thin white fabric. You walked closer to him as his eyes were fixated on the way it hugged your body and how your thighs were peaking of out of the fabric just bearly.

Straddling his lap as he still couldn't find the strength to move a muscle, until he did.

His shaky hand going under the jersey, rubbing your bare hip, as you kissed him, your hands running through his hair as his hands creeped up your thigh looking for some panties to pull down, truely a perfect way to end his day he thought.

A giggle exits your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss, a puzzled look on his face before he felt you push him down on the bed snapping him back to attention suddenly, your mouth alredy leaving marks on his neck eagerly, seeming like the both of you werent even on the same wavelength.

"You arnt gonna find something down there, I'm not wearing anything" you whisper nonchalantly before continuing to attack his neck with kisses and love bites.

Basically hinting the fact that you're weren't wearing panties.

"You planned this didn't you" he breathed out

Is eyebrows widen in suprise, he takes a mintue sinking it it before accepting his fate before he layed back with stupid smirk, enjoying the free hickies while he undid his jeans.

In a few minutes you found yourself under him, the jersey just slightly above your midriff, his eyes widened. Holy shit, you really weren't wearing anything under that.

His signiture grin on his face as he pulled down his jeans just above his thighs, he swore he saw hearts in your eyes when you felt him press against you.

He had a feeling you've been pent up for a while, he was just too busy to do anything about it, until now ofcourse.

You felt him pick you up and made you lay on your stomach, pulling your hips right against him, feeling him throb in-between your legs, so close yet so far from where you realy wanted it, you felt his hand grip onto the flesh of your hips.

He leaned down, closing the distance between you two, his chest right against your back and his lips millimeters away from your ear "Feel that? All for you babe." He said in a husky tone, right against your ear, a grin on his lips after hearing a whine come out of your mouth hearing those words.

Your body jolted, feeling something familiar prod inside you, His mouth still right against your ear, not changing a single thing. you heard his breath hitch everytime he gets deeper.

Your body shivered from the feeling, you've missed this. You've both missed this.

He held your hands over your head, pressing them against the bed sheets as he gently bucked his hips, moving carefully feeling how tight you were around him yet taking him so well.

He was taking it in, fucking his perfect girlfriend, having her perfect voice loud enough to echo around the house, thanking his perfect self he got a place far from anyone else.

He got to have you, all to himself, after a long work day, wearing a jersey with his name on it.

With his name on it.

He let's go of your hands remembering something, one of them holding you by your hips, rutting in and out of you while the other one tucks your hair to the side of your shoulder, revealing the back design of his last name and player number on your back.

Shit, he felt so egotistical and narcissistic but this was better than any kind of liengre or sundress you could ever buy.

Looked like a scene from a wet dream he could've had.

You felt him pick up the pace, started moving aimlessly yet his tip kept rubbing the perfect spongey spot inside you. Your voice started raising, getting louder than it always was, not like you could say anything from your fucked out state.

His muscles started to tense, getting lost into he feeling of being inside you, spitting out praise.

"You're doing great baby," or "you look so fucking good for me." He'd coo, with just saying how much he loves you, and parts of you like how your hair was a mess, how perfect it looked when his cock would disappear inside you, or just worshiping your ass.

And most importantly that desperate arch on your back, only making it easier for him to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

The room being filled with the sound of moans, skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bedframe. Laser focused on the overwhelming feeling of your walls around him, fluids dripping down your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

"Fuckk, Kenji, Kenji!" you cried out, making him stutter in his thrusts, hearing his name escape your lips a few times.

Hundreds, thousands, even millions of fans have cried out his name but nothing was quite like that one.

He kept going, this time with quicker, more feverish thrusts making you start to babbel words, "Whyd you stop?" He teased "cmon, who do you belong to?" He said, a sinister laugh following his remark.

"You" you breathed out still being thrusted in and out to, "names baby, I'm gonna need names." He said in a faux pity tone, you didn't even have to turn around to know he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face right now.

You melted in his grip, you moaned his name again with more passion, feeding that ego of his. Knowing only he was the one making you feel like this, the leg trembling, spot hitting, eye watering kind of sex.

With his player number and last name on your back, he was thinking of finnishing inside and starting a family alredy, making you really his.

But that would be a bit too much to baby trap you, he knew you weren't going anywhere.

Seeing his last name on your back just drove him crazy, sining in the thought that one place, one day, that's gonna be yours too.

He wakes up from his baby fever trance to your voice "Fuck, Kenji... I'm so fucking close" you curse out, your hand meeting his, his other one continually making you bounce against him.

His spare hand layers over yours, holding it against the bedsheets, as he closes the distance once more, his lips right against hers, "Go on, you've earned it." He says before buying his face into the crook of your neck.

At that moment, you started seeing stars

He feels your walls tightening around him and you moan out his name for the final time. Seeing your body tense up and legs shake for him was something he would never forget the feeling of, knowing how good he made you feel never gets old.

His thrusts slow down as you come down from your high. He pulls out stroking his shaft a few times to the view of your fucked out body, using the white opaque liquid as lube, spilling his warm seed onto your curves, some hitting the new jersey by accident.

"Shit, you might want to wash it now." He laughed, you were too tired to make a comment on him alredy cumming on your new jersey.

Minutes pass, maybe around an hour. You see your loving boyfriend bring you your favorite tea "still sore?" He asked, "just a bit.." you reply back.

Now in a new pair of clothes and him snuggling up to you in bed, turning on the TV and putting on both your favorite series.

Truley, the perfect way to end both your days.

●●●

A/N : Haven't posted in a hot minute, I know. Sorry to my followers, I know this is something new, but I swear the bnha fics r coming, there somewhere in my files 😭

A/N : Those who've read in in the first 13 hours actually pointed out there was a typo, so thank you for that <3. I'll try to spell check more diligently since I mostly only write late at night <33